


Caught on a Bad Day

by HathorAroha



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Alt!Chloe, Alternate Timeline, F/F, Wheelchair Chloe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 18:08:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21360472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HathorAroha/pseuds/HathorAroha
Summary: In the alternate timeline where William is alive, Chloe tells Max the latter caught her on a ‘good day’. What if Max had caught her on a ‘bad day’ instead?
Relationships: Maxine "Max" Caulfield/Chloe Price
Kudos: 25





	Caught on a Bad Day

Max pauses in the middle of the path to the Prices’ door, taking in the changes to the house before her, with its fully complete blue paintwork and the ramp--

_Wait. A ramp?_

The Prices never had a ramp. 

_Shit, shit, shit. What else have I done?_

She tries, and fails, to stop herself from imagining the worst. Did she hurt Chloe? William? Or perhaps Joyce? Surely, people need ramps to their house all the time, not just people who need more accessibility due to a disability or aging. William and Joyce weren’t even that old anyway, so why would they need a ramp? Or maybe they were fostering or had adopted a child who needed a wheelchair. That had to be it. 

_Chloe. Chloe... please be okay, God please be okay... _

She takes a deep breath, another, another, and still her chest squeezes back in the vice of anxiety. Panic swells inside her, turns her stomach with that bottomless sick feeling as she walks up to the front door, her hand poised to knock. 

_Okay Max, you can do this. Come on. _

She tries to swallow, but her throat is too dry, too parched with apprehension as she knocks gently on the door, stepping back to wait until someone—_please, please let it be Chloe_—answers. 

Instead, it is William that answers the door, immediately breaking out into a warm smile on seeing Max. 

‘Max Caulfield, we thought we’d never see you again.’

A rush of nostalgia and relief on seeing William’s still-warm smile swells in Max’s heart, despite the shock at the changes so far.

‘I could never abandon Chloe like that. I might not have kept in touch, but…I couldn’t not see her again after coming back here.’

‘Come inside.’

William steps aside, and Max, trying to keep down the rising panic squeezing at her insides, walks into the hall of the house at once familiar and strange. She hears the door click behind her, followed by William’s voice.

‘She isn’t in her old upstairs room anymore, Max, instead we’ve converted the old garage into a new room for her. Makes it easier for her to get around. Got her wheelchair and everything now.’

_Wheelchair. Chloe’s in a wheelchair. Shit what have I _done?

Max steps up to the door that once led into a garage, but now leads into Chloe’s new room in this new timeline. What has she done to her best friend, her partner in time and crime? She tries to keep her composure as William addresses her once again.

‘I must warn you, Max, she’s having one of her bad days.’ 

Max stares at the door; it’s so not right that there is no ‘wrong way’ sign. 

‘W-what do you mean?’

‘You already know about her car accident two years ago. Has she talked to you about it?’ 

_Shit, shit, shit. _

‘I...don’t think so.’ 

‘A driver illegally cut her off, and she ended up...’ a heavy pause. ‘The accident left her paralysed from the neck down.’ 

Max leans a hand on the door, willing herself not to pass out. Chloe...Chloe paralysed. Neck down. Unable to feel a thing. Unable to dance, let alone go out to enjoy concerts and go down in the mosh pit. 

_I fucked up. Well done Max. You’re a loser. A fucking loser. You don’t deserve Chloe. She deserves a better friend than you._

William’s hand on her shoulder brings her back to the present, or whatever present this fucked up reality is. 

‘Max, you look like you’re going to pass out. Do you need to sit down?’

‘N-no, I think I’ll be fine. I need to see Chloe. Please. I haven’t seen her in five years. Will she be okay enough to see me?’ 

‘She has very regular headaches like now, as her body redirects all the pain toward her head.’ 

‘God.’ 

‘But I think she’ll be glad to see you, nevertheless.’ 

‘Thank you.’ 

‘Are you sure you don’t need to sit down?’ 

‘No, I think I’m okay.’ 

William, despite clearly looking concerned for her, knocks gently on Chloe’s door, and opens it just enough for Max to see it is dark inside, like all the curtains have been drawn. 

‘Chloe?’ 

Silence. William opens the door a little more, looks inside, before turning to address Max. 

‘I think she’s sleeping right now, but feel free to go inside. It’ll be a pleasant surprise for her to see you when she wakes up.’ 

‘Thank you.’ 

William stands aside so Max can step through the door, and stops still on the threshold, feeling the blood drain from her face as she surveys the dimly lit interior, and the bed with—

_Oh god, Chloe! My Chloe!_

It is wrong, so wrong, so very wrong to see her best friend motionless in a hospital bed, hooked up to a ventilator, a drip, and God only knew what else. Even in the dim light, Max sees the thick tube running from Chloe’s throat to the ventilator with its silent vital sign readings, and she hates herself more than ever. It’s so wrong to see Chloe without her usual blue hair, instead left as its natural blonde. Instead of punk posters and graffiti, the walls are nearly bare, save for a photo here and there, and what appears to be a pinboard with desperately few bits of happiness and comfort tacked to the cork. 

What Max wouldn’t do to tear apart the house until she finds that goddamn photo, to undo all of this, even at the cost of William’s life, undo, rewind all the last five years, until she’s back in her old timeline, back with an able-bodied, blue-haired Chloe, and not this...ghost...

She wants Chloe, her Chloe from her timeline, her beautiful blue-haired badass, who dared her to kiss her in another time, in another morning, in another life. She’d willingly hunt for another hundred bottles in the junkyard if it meant bringing back the Chloe she’d grown up with, running around Arcadia Bay in their pirate get-ups. 

Max takes a deep breath, forces herself to step over the threshold into the dimmed bedroom, hearing William close the door behind her as softly as possible. Chloe’s head is still turned to the side, looking for all the world like she’s in a peaceful sleep, were it not for the soft ventilator-aided breaths, or the drip in her arm, or that tube running from her throat. 

_This is my fault. All my fault. I’m so sorry, Chloe, you didn’t deserve this. You deserve to dance, to go to concerts, to dye your hair blue, to fall in love, to stomp around the house in your big boots...to...what have I done to you. My fault. My fucking fault. _

Max can’t help but think that Chloe in this reality has never painted her nails electric blue, nor etched a tattoo on one arm that Max has, on more than one occasion, wished she could sit and trace and trail with her fingers, following its designs from forearm to shoulder. Now, instead of a tattoo needle carving art into her arm, it’s a drip delivering pain killers into her bloodstream. Rather than a necklace of bullets, she has a tube taped in place to her throat. 

She can’t bear to look at Chloe a second longer, not now anyway, and turns her attention elsewhere, immediately spotting a wheelchair in a corner, her heart dropping to the core of the earth at the sight. There is enough light for Max, on closer examination, to see it also has a tube similar to what Chloe in the bed has now. Max reaches a tentative hand to the wheelchair, tracing her fingers over an armrest before pulling her arm back, fingers covering her mouth, brows knitted together as she fights back tears. She can’t move her eyes away from the odd things at the top of the seat, where Chloe’s head would be were she in the chair. Max wonders if they were there to help keep her head still. 

_I can’t believe I put Chloe in that chair...or the bed. _

Max tip-toes away from the chair, not wanting to wake Chloe, and takes note of the sign on the bathroom door, and manages the weakest of smiles at the words. 

_Gas masks optional. That’s so Chloe. _

What she wouldn’t give to see that ‘wrong way’ sign again. Strange how one can miss such a little thing that otherwise might be ignored as part of the scenery. 

She doesn’t dare touch the huge computer screen nor the mouth-operated joystick; knowing her clumsy self, she’d probably break it, though there was no reason she couldn’t use rewind to fix it. Still, better safe than sorry. She allows her fingers to trail along the edge of the desk, one foot in front of the other, back toward Chloe’s bed, and stops when she sees a familiar bracelet with spikes. Picking it up, Max allows a little pinprick of relief to see some sign of the Chloe she knew from her old timeline. 

_Still a punk at heart, Chloe. Never change. _

Strange how something as small as a punk bracelet with spikes could make her feel just a tiny bit calmer, at least until she catches sight of the drip right in front of her, delivering morphine to her best friend’s bloodstream. She wishes she can block out the whoosh of fluid flowing from the drip into Chloe, lying so still right there.

Legs weak and shaky, Max moves to the small wooden chair across from the bedside, lifting it up to move it closer, but not too close, to Chloe. Slumping back into the seat, Max watches Chloe sleep for a moment, sees the way her chest rises and falls with each shaky breath, before she leans her elbows on her knees, letting her face drop into her hands, palms pressing into her eyes. 

It isn’t long before Chloe’s voice, hoarser and wearier than Max ever heard it, drifts into her ears. 

‘Either I have so much fucking morphine in me that I’m hallucinating seeing Maxine Caulfield, or you really are here. The fuck you been the last five years.’ 

Max raises her head to see Chloe has woken up, her face turned in her direction. But instead of the pissed off look Max expected, her heart skips a beat to see, instead, the smallest of smiles, one she hasn’t seen since...this morning, really, when she woke next to Chloe on her double bed after a night at the swimming pool at Blackwell. The smile, though sullied by the tension of pain in her eyes and the corners of her mouth, is still enough to melt Max’s heart. 

‘C-Chloe!’ Max has to use all her willpower not to immediately jump up and draw Chloe into a hug, lest she hurt her. ‘I’m really here.’ 

‘Damn, perfect timing as always, Max. You caught me on a craptastic day, dude. Shame, since we haven’t even seen each other in five years. Liked your letters and selfies but… could’ve made an effort to visit more often.’ 

‘I’m the worst.’ 

‘How long have you been here watching me sleep anyway, you creep?’ Max relishes the snarky tone—so Chloe. 

‘Not long, actually. William told me you were having one of your bad days.’ 

Chloe grimaces, turns her head so she stares up at the ceiling. ‘You have no idea. Doped up all day on morphine and my head still feels like it’s gonna implode. Or explode. Whichever happens first.’ 

‘Ugh, sounds crummy.’ 

‘God, I hate this. All of this.’ Chloe nods over at the machines, ‘Two years of this crap. Prick. Ditched my car with his SUV. Woke up in hospital unable to feel a thing, let alone move a muscle. Back snapping like a twig was last thing I felt.’ 

A shiver prickles at Max’s back, and she can’t help a little shudder of horror. 

‘Jesus. I... I don’t know what to say.’ 

‘Don’t.’ Chloe clenches her jaw, squeezes her eyes shut. ‘Fuck. Fuck. Sorry. Talk makes it worse.’ 

‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t bother you.’ Max can’t help a twinge of guilt.

‘Shut up,’ Chloe’s voice is softer, but still painfully hoarse, ‘I’m glad you’re here.’ 

‘You are?’ 

‘Um, I haven’t seen you in five years. Of course I am. Makes a change from my usual visitors.’ 

‘Visitors?’

‘All the friends who never visited me or just left me all together.’ 

‘Chloe, I should have visited you more.’ 

‘Not like we could just waltz out of here anyway.’ 

‘I’m never leaving you again, Chloe, okay? I mean…if you need rest, I can leave you alone, read a book.’ 

‘Or we can still chat like old times,’ Chloe’s voice sounds more strained than before, her eyes closing almost against her will, ‘Don’t be surprised if I drift off again.’ 

Max allows a hint of gentle teasing into her words. ‘I’ll just think you’re bored of me talking about photos.’ 

‘Hey, if it helps me drift off with this fucking headache...can’t even with sunlight. Way too bright. Makes it even worse.’ 

‘It’s almost sundown.’ 

‘Still messes me up.’

‘That bad.’

‘All the pain is redirected to my brain. Funtimes.’

‘That sucks.’

‘You don’t say. No need to feel too sorry for me. I can do that by myself.’

‘You’re a survivor, Chloe.’

‘Platitudes I’ve heard before.’

Max hears a hint of that old familiar bitterness buried in Chloe’s words. Sure, not _as _bitter, nowhere near, but still, there it is.

‘I mean it, really.’ Max reassures her.

‘Doesn’t help when I’m like this. All doped up to eleven, and yet in so much fucking pain.’

Max glances back over her shoulder at the bathroom built for Chloe, still with that sign that is just so her. She turns her chair around a little so she faces Chloe more directly.

‘Your parents do so much for you. They really do love you. You’re here.’

‘More like they’re here for me, Max. They can’t even take a walk alone. It sucks.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Sorry for what? For me? No thanks. I get enough of that from people. I’m not an invalid, you know, lying here like some dying woman in a Victorian novel.’

There is a long pause, and Max casts around for something, anything else to say. Clearly, Chloe was not putting up with pity, something even Chloe in her original timeline wouldn’t put up with. She hated fake people, platitudes, and pity, and this timeline’s Chloe was no less different.

‘You have an impressive set-up with the computer.’

‘I can at least watch concert videos on that beast. And check out all the concerts. Hate myself for not being able to see them. Not today though, I’m in way too much pain to listen to any pirated youtube videos of concerts.’ Her words are broken by a series of dry coughs. ‘Throat’s dry already. Haven’t talked this much in a while. See if there’s water left in my cup. It’s on the dresser.’ 

Glad for something to do, Max stands up, walking over to the dresser with the cup of water. Grabbing the cup, she sloshes it around a little to check how much water there is in it—it seems to be nearly full. She returns to Chloe, sitting down next to her on the bed, bringing the cup close enough to Chloe’s lips so she can take a sip from the straw. 

‘Drink up, buttercup,’ she hears herself say, watching as Chloe drinks from the straw, eyes never leaving Max’s face. Max almost can’t bear to see how much love and gratitude there is in those soft blue eyes, pupils large in the dim room. She had forgotten how Chloe’s eyes had looked, before being hardened by bitterness and trauma from a world that had abandoned her. This Chloe had none of that trauma, and so her eyes were softer and more beautiful than Max ever remembered them to be. 

_I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—_

Chloe presses her head back into the pillow, turning her mouth away from the cup, obviously having taken her fill. 

‘Thanks, Max.’

‘Always happy to help.’ 

‘Next time, grab me a beer.’ 

‘That’s…not going to help headaches.’

‘Wet blanket. I was joking.’ 

‘I know you were,’ Max assures as she replaces the drink on the dresser, ‘Is there anything else?’ 

‘Think...I might rest a while, Max. Like I said, caught me on a shit day. Go take some pictures or something.’ Chloe turned her head to nod at the shuttered window, with golden light leaking around the corners. ‘What do photographers call this time? Everything looks amazing at this time.’ 

‘The Golden Hour.’ 

A long pause, Chloe still staring at the curtained window, as though to reflect on this new piece of knowledge. For a time, there was little noise except for a bird twittering outside and the ventilator working to help her breathe. Max thought she might have drowsed off when Chloe turns her face back again to Max with a wan smile, her forehead crinkling with pain, eyes closed.

‘Learn something new every day, Max. Now thanks to you, I know.’ 

Max waits a few more minutes, still looking over at the window, imagining the view beyond. She realises she had not paid any heed to anything that was outside, but then again, her mind had been thinking only of one thing—or person, rather. Chloe, now lying before her in a bed, unable to move anything below her neck, stuck day and night, not unless she was in her wheelchair, able to move around at will, wherever she wanted. But all the most modern wheelchairs in the world could not undo her paralysis, could not help her feel anything below her neck again. 

Convinced that Chloe has dozed off again, Max quietly leaves Chloe’s side, returning to the bedroom door, opening it to the soft golden light of sundown. The house seems to be very still, except Max can smell something delicious wafting from the kitchen, and her stomach growls in anticipation of dinner. No doubt Joyce is in there cooking up a meal; Max wonders if Chloe eats much, and this idle thought is chased immediately by a jolting realisation that she likely has to be hand-fed her meals. 

_God. No dignity for her. This sucks. Oh Chloe..._

Bills and opened envelopes lie on both dressers and table, and Max cannot help but take a quick glance at them, without touching or being too obvious about it. She carefully suppresses any outward reaction on seeing the horrific bills they have to pay, even just for Chloe’s basic supplies. A newspaper article on the table catches her eye, and her hand flies to her mouth as she reads about the mysterious whale strandings on the beach. 

_Has this anything to do with my powers? What the hell am I doing?_

Strange how seeing an article on the stranded whales she’d seen earlier on the bus ride from Blackwell Academy really hit it home for her. This surely could not be a coincidence after the snow, the eclipse, and flocks of dead birds. Was the storm coming in this reality too? 

She was just fucking everything up, that’s all she was doing. 

Trying to take her mind off this shit, Max drifts to the sliding door facing out into the yard, spotting at once that their old board with their innocent childhood drawings had been moved from the space it usually inhabited in her original timeline. Why over there, across from what used to be the garage…

_Oh. _

No doubt Chloe wanted it moved so that she could see it from outside her window whenever she could. So she could remember Max, even though there had been no visits from her for five years. No doubt seeing a reminder of Max gave Chloe hope that the former would come back someday to visit, and today that wish had finally come true. 

How fitting that the wish had been granted at the golden hour, a time that granted a touch of magic to every photographer’s framed shots. If only Max had her camera now, she might have taken a photo or two of the painting tinged by sundown, or of the bird on the fence, its feathers dusted with evening light. 

A few hours pass Max by, spent exploring and reflecting on changes in this old familiar, and unfamiliar, childhood home away from home. She could not bear staying long in Chloe’s old room, bereft of the smell of weed and stale pizza, of the clutter of beer bottles and cans and piles of unwashed laundry, and the walls naked for want of punk posters and graffiti borne of a life ‘dipped in shit’ as Chloe had so colourfully described it yesterday. 

But then she is summoned to the stairs, eventually, by Joyce calling for Max, that Chloe is awake, that she wants to see her again. Chloe’s headache has simmered down a good bit, Joyce says when Max joins her at the bottom of the stairs. Not by much, she hastens to warn, but enough that she can talk again with Max, at least for a little while. 

Max doesn’t hesitate for even a moment, rushing back into Chloe’s room, shutting the door again behind her. It is still very dim inside, a small lamp on a dresser the only source of light, aside from the glowing screens of the machines hooked to Chloe, and the heat lamp’s glow. Again, Max’s heart skips a beat when Chloe catches her eye with a smile. 

_Has she always been this beautiful when she smiles?_

Max makes her way back to the chair next to Chloe, settling herself in it as she had before, stretching her legs out in front of her, at a loss for what to say.

‘Dude, stop.’ 

Max blinks in confusion, staring at Chloe. ‘Stop what?’

‘Feeling sorry for me. My parents and I do enough of that on our own.’ 

‘I just never expected it to be...like this...’ 

‘Well you never made much effort to find out either.’ 

‘I’m sorry.’ 

‘Just because I’m like this doesn’t mean I can’t do anything. Fuck, getting my wheelchair after months motionless in bed was so...freeing. Could actually move my ass around without help.’ 

Max glances over at the wheelchair in the corner. ‘It looks...very high tech.’ 

'My parents made sure to get the best. Even if it bankrupts them.’ 

‘All of this looks so impressive.’ 

‘I can go online, talk shit with other people, listen to music. I’m not just...sitting here like a sentient Christmas tree.’ 

‘What kind of music? Classic?’ 

‘Uh, no fucking way am I listening to that. Punk, rock, that’s more my thing. Something I’m sure you’re way into, right.’ 

Max can’t help but laugh a little, half in relief that this Chloe still likes the same music. ‘Uh...not really.’ 

‘Figured.’ 

A pause slips between them, Max shifting on the chair as though to find another comfortable position, while Chloe turns her head to study the ceiling. 

‘Sorry to be boring tonight, Max. We totally would’ve hung out on the beach or something.’ 

‘What? No, no you’re fine,’ Max leans forward, touching a hand on the blankets near where she thought Chloe’s arm was. 

‘I would totally watch _Blade Runner _tonight with you, but…pain. Joy.’ 

‘Do you…need more painkillers? Should I ask—’

‘Nah, stay,’ Chloe’s gaze falls back to Max, ‘Being here with you makes it less shitty. Really. I’m so glad I got to see you today, it took you long enough to visit me.’ A smile lilts on her lips, reaching her eyes, so stark in both gentleness and not-quite-hidden pain. ‘Seeing you here…reminds me so much of when we were kids running around Arcadia Bay, playing at pirates. Seems like so long ago when we were that young.’ 

Max lets out a soft sigh of nostalgia. ‘Seems literally like yesterday to me.’ 

‘Time flies, doesn’t it?’ 

‘We should’ve taken over Arcadia Bay while we still had the chance.’ 

‘But you will. You still have time, Max. And you’ll be photographing every little thing along the way.’ 

‘You know me well.’ 

Chloe winces a little again in pain. ‘Fuck. Shitty timing. Max, do me a favour?’ 

Max stands up, ready to do anything for Chloe. If she needed the world, the moon, hell even goddamn Pluto, she would do it. Chloe deserved so much more than this. 

‘Anything. Anything you want, I’ll do for you.’ 

An impish grin tugs up Chloe’s lips, her blue eyes catching Max’s. ‘Anything, huh? Because hot monkey sex would be nice right now too.’ 

Max opens her mouth to say something, but no words come out, even as a blush creeps up into her cheeks and she has to look away, hearing Chloe’s teasing laugh, pulling at her heart with its familiarity.

‘Oooh look, I made Maxine blush!’ 

_Omigod, Chloe. You’re impossible. _

‘I…I’m…’ 

‘God, Max, you’re so adorable sometimes. Can you look in that drawer over there?’ 

Max finds the drawer Chloe wants her to open, and sees nothing but several tubs and tubes of medicated lotion.

‘Keeps my blood circulating. Or makes my headaches fuck off a little more.’ 

‘You need some right now?’ 

‘Yeah.’ 

‘Uh which one?’ 

Max finds the one Chloe wants and brings it over to her, unscrewing the cap. 

‘What should I do?’ 

Chloe gives her a look, raising an eyebrow. ‘I don’t know, unscrew the cap, pour lotion in your hand, rub hands together, then massage lotion onto my forehead and temples. Simple enough instructions.’ 

‘Think I can follow those instructions.’

Chloe closes her eyes as Max rubs her hands together, sitting next to her on the bed, placing her hands on Chloe’s forehead, feeling how soft her skin is under her palms, fingers massaging lotion into her temples as gently as she can, feeling the brush of Chloe’s hair over her fingertips. Close up, Max can see the deep bags under Chloe’s eyes, the very faint line forming between her eyebrows, and how thin and pale her face has become from so much pain and weariness. It’s strange to think this Chloe is nineteen, same as her Chloe in her old timeline, and yet she seems so much older beyond her years. 

_Am I the same when Chloe looks at me, whether here or in my old time?_

Her hands, so tender and careful, now still on Chloe’s cheeks, cupping her face between her palms, thumbs brushing over her cheekbones. 

‘Is…is that making it better?’ 

‘You’re good at this—hell of a lot better than the nurses.’ 

Max can’t help a little smile, moving a hand up to brush some of Chloe’s hair back from her forehead, letting the blonde strands slip between her fingers. 

‘Always wanted coloured bangs,’ Chloe says in a whispery tone, ‘Like Pris.’ 

‘Who?’ 

‘_Blade Runner_.’ 

‘Oh…I see. You’d look amazing with blue hair.’ 

‘Weird. I would have said the same for me.’ 

‘With a cool beanie to top it off when you go outside.’ 

‘Dressing me with your eyes are you, Max? Normally it’s the other way around.’ 

‘N-no, I mean...you’d look stunning.’ 

‘Never change, Max.’ 

Max draws her hands a little away from Chloe’s face. ‘How’s the pain now?’ 

‘Lot better than earlier today, and not as bad as it would be without you here.’ Chloe’s eyes open, meeting Max’s with a sleepy, yet achingly glad, expression. ‘You’ve made my day being here at all. Can’t believe we’re already on the cusp of adulthood.’ 

‘Yeah…me too.’ 

‘I keep wanting to go back to that time, when we were dorky kids covered in pancake flour…I still have that photo somewhere.’ 

Max’s breath catches in her throat, heart hammering. ‘You do?’ 

‘Yeah, in the album on my dresser over there,’ Chloe nods toward the wall beyond her ventilator. ‘Tomorrow morning, we can go on a trip down memory lane, get all mushy about ye olde days. Not tonight, not up for it.’ 

‘I can wait until morning,’ Max assures her, ‘I’m just happy we’re together again.’ 

‘Me too, Max. It’s been too fucking long.’ 

In this reality anyway. Was it just this morning Chloe had dared her to kiss her, and ended the day with an argument in her truck? Meanwhile, for this Chloe, and this Max, five years had passed since the last time they’d seen each other. At least this timeline’s Max made some effort to bother keeping in touch, even if she never visited. 

Max slung her legs up on to the bed, lying back as gently as possible until her head is next to Chloe’s on the pillow, staring up at the ceiling. She allows her eyes to close, just for a minute or two, relaxing against Chloe next to her, trying not to think about how she cannot even feel the presence of her best friend next to her in the bed, like this was just another one of their old sleepovers. 

‘Some sleepover, this, isn’t it?’ Max whispers, seeing Chloe turn her head toward her out of the corner of her eye. ‘I mean…when was the last time we had a sleepover?’ 

‘Right before you left, actually,’ Chloe whispers back, ‘I missed our sleepovers. Or, rather, when you came here to sleepover with me.’ 

Max turns her head to meet Chloe’s gaze, heart skipping as she sees how close their faces are to each other. She still cannot believe this is the same Chloe she knew from her old life. So different and yet still just the same in so many ways. She wonders if this Chloe would ever have double dared her to kiss her. 

‘I remember. I don’t think we ever slept so much as stayed up as long as we could. We always pretended we slept all night.’ 

‘My parents always saw right through that.’ 

Max laughs a little, nostalgia mixed with sadness. ‘Yeah. Yeah they did.’ 

Chloe’s face softens into a small smile, her eyes never leaving Max’s, even as her eyelids start drooping again, drowsy from so many pain meds.

‘Max…you’re…you’re the only one I grew up with…who’s visited me…ever…’

Max shifts so she’s lying on her side, facing Chloe, foreheads just touching, the tickle of a strand of blonde hair against her own.

‘Chloe, I promise, I’m never abandoning you again. I’m never leaving you.’

A soft sigh, Chloe’s head tips a little against Max’s. ‘I love you, Max.’

Max allows her own eyes to close, drowsy from the stifling warmth from the heat lamp, and being so close to Chloe she could have kissed her again, like she had that all-too-brief moment this morning. She’s amazed she’s already so tired, her mind a whirl of shock, fear, love, and nostalgia, and still she finds herself drifting away, Chloe next to her.

_Love you too, Chloe. _

The photo could wait until tomorrow morning. For now, all that mattered was this Chloe, in this lifetime, in this thread of time.


End file.
